So what’s your story …

Has anyone ever asked you that?  I vividly remember the day someone asked me “what’s your story” and I just stared at them not sure how to respond.  I remember not digging to deep and sheepishly answering “Well I’m 27 and a single mother of two kids”. She looked at me oddly and said is that it?   
I think about that day 6 years later and wonder if she really wanted to know “my story”.  My journey to that night where I was downing vodka, flirting with whoever I wanted, and likely ended up passed out or blacked out somewhere.  Just another weekend.  Did I look like, act like, resemble someone who had a story.  

How did I get here?  A place where from the exterior my life is moving along and may even look ideal to some.  I wake up, show up, try to look my best, put my best foot forward, try not to complain, and put a beautiful shade of lipstick over my lips and keep it moving.  I build and build and take some down and then remove a couple more…. bricks have always been apart of my story.  I’m on a rollercoaster.  I try to look up and often catch myself looking down.  

My story.  Sexual abuse, domestic violence, rape, abandonment.  Their story.  Two kids, no father, abandoned.  

Pull up a chair… Let me tell you a story about how and why I’m here, standing up, fighting to look up, and not wanting to give up.  

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